Confessions of a Lonely Agoraphobic
by AmbrosiaDixon
Summary: Dean, a lonely agoraphobic, makes a wish that his painting of a man he named Samuel would come to life and release him from his perpetual solitude. When his wish comes true, he'll do just about anything to keep him. But when desperation causes him to hold Sam prisoner, will true love convince him to set Sam free? Or will his obsessive love destroy them both? Unrelated Sam/Dean AU
1. It's A Cruel World

**A/N: Hi guys! So I don't know how this happened, but I got bored one day and decided to write a second Sam and Dean story. I'm not sure what to make of it as it was just something I started throwing together without much thought but as iffy as I am with it so far, I have a feeling it could turn out decent enough if I play my cards right lol. I know I've been really mean to Dean so far but I promise Sam'll make it all better! Oh and just a warning, there are mentions of past child abuse in this so you might want to skip it if that bothers you. Hope you guys like it. Read and review! :)**

__**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

_Pray that your loneliness may spur you into finding something to live for, great enough to die for_

_- Dag Hammarskjold_

Dean knew there was something wrong with spending your entire Saturday afternoon staring out of an open window, the sound of lawnmowers and neighborhood chatter ringing in your ears while you look on in timid fascination. He wanted to be a part of that, wanted so badly to say 'to hell with my agoraphobia, I'm going outside!' But alas, he knew that to be impossible. The world was a scary place, far too scary for meek little Dean Winchester to integrate himself into any part of it, no matter how badly he so desperately wanted to.

It had been like this for as long as he could remember. He'd always been a rather shy boy, finding it much more convenient to stare absentmindedly at the ground rather than face the unwanted eye contact he was sure to get from the person standing in front of him. His coy and often introverted nature may have made life more difficult, but it never hindered his ability to step foot outside of his home until the death of his mother, Mary.

Thoughts of the woman who'd been his rock for the first ten years of his life were getting harder to hold onto, the fragmented pieces of his cracked memories resembling that of a broken mirror; the images reflecting back at him becoming more distorted with each passing day. As frightening as the concept of losing all recollections of her was, there were some memories that would never fade; so imprinted were these on his brain that they had become tattoos etched into the walls of his consciousness. He remembered the summer drives in the Impala; her hair, the color of candlelight, flowing freely past her shoulders to the rhythm of the soft breeze. He remembered all the times she would comfort him after a bad nightmare, humming Metallica into his eager ears until he was claimed once again by sleep, the reason for his interrupted slumber long forgotten in the arms of his guardian angel. He remembered being told that angels were watching over him, that there was never any reason to worry about the outside world he found so scary. He remembered her smile, her laugh, her voice. No matter how hard life got, he knew it was all going to be okay. It was okay because he had the most beautiful woman by his side; his protector and his friend. Nothing could ever tear them apart.

Except something did tear them apart. The fire tore them apart. He could still smell the smoke that permeated the walls of his bedroom all those years ago, forcing his ten-year-old self up and out of bed before he could so much as bat an eyelash. His body had been thrust into survival mode, the need to remove the threat to his life so great that he didn't have a chance to think about the woman he shared the house with. Wanting to escape the burning building, he climbed out of his window and jumped without thinking of the consequences, crying out in pain as the fall broke both of his tiny legs. It wasn't until he was lying on the sharp grass that thoughts of his mother came rushing back, the knowledge that she was still stuck in that fiery inferno causing him to crawl towards the front door as fast as his arms would allow. The neighbor next door picked that exact moment to come out of his house, scooping Dean up in his arms and running as far away from the fire as possible. He could still remember his screams as the sound of police sirens broke through the peaceful tranquility of the once victimless neighborhood, shouting for his mother so loudly that it could be heard all the way down the street. Needless to say, nobody was able to save her.

Dean thought back to that day and felt a pang of guilt rip through his gut. It was his fault that his mother died. If he had just found a way to make it to her bedroom, then he could have prevented all of this from happening. But life makes no time for regret, the minutes ticking by refusing to stop long enough for anyone to get their wits about them. Instead, it kept going…and going…and going. He was so sick and tired of the sound his clock made that he was tempted to tear it off the wall most days, opting instead to leave it up as it was the only company Dean had, the tick tock echoing off the walls sounding almost lifelike in the otherwise silent house he'd inherited from his wretched aunt Phyllis.

God, he couldn't stand that woman; hating the old hag so much that her death was a source of satisfaction for Dean. The worst thing his mother could have ever done was place him in her care after her death. It was that god awful bitch who was inevitably responsible for his downfall, beating him to within an inch of his life and making sure he went to school in filthy rags that caused him to get bullied mercilessly, much to her enjoyment. He'd never forgotten what life with her was like. She used to come home after one of her late night binges with sour breath and a ready hand, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and murmuring words of discouragement in his damaged ears.

"_Nobody loves you_," she used to say. "_Nobody's ever gonna love you, my boy. You wanna know why? Because you're a filthy beast. Saved yourself and let your own mother burn in that fire. You're a disgrace to humanity and you deserve to be punished. I'm gonna beat some sense into you, boy. You're gonna wish you had died right beside your mama by the time I'm through with you_."

She made good on that promise. Boy did she ever…

As horrific as the physical and psychological abuse she inflicted upon him was, it was the events outside of his home that eventually did him in. However much Phyllis hated him, the children at school hated him more. He never made one single friend the entire time he was there, probably because all the kids would push their desks as far away from his as possible in an effort to avoid catching what were apparently his "cooties." Nobody liked him. The teachers didn't like him, the principle didn't like him. Hell, even the parents of his tormenters didn't like him. He was called every name in the book and gotten the shit kicked out of him so many times that it was a wonder his body worked at all. It eventually got to the point where he spent more time at home than was strictly necessary. He figured suffering through the beatings Phyllis gave him every time he missed a day of school was worth it in the end. But throughout all of this, he'd kept telling himself that it was okay, because Mary was still there with him. He had the amulet she gave him wrapped around his neck to prove it. As long as he had that last piece of her left, he could have taken on anything. It wasn't until his fifteenth birthday that everything changed…

A sudden crash upstairs jolted Dean out of his musings, propelling his body up and off the chair in record time as he ran up the stairs to his art room, stopping dead in his tracks as he took in the sight of his busted window. It wasn't often that the neighborhood kids threw rocks into the house of the madman on Meadowbrook Lane, finding it much more enjoyable to throw flaming bags of dog shit on his front porch while screaming obscenities loud enough for the whole block to hear. Yes, being the town pariah wasn't particularly entertaining but at least he didn't have to leave his house to put up with their abuse this time…or so he thought.

Retrieving the rock that broke his window, he frowned as he took in the word "freak" written in capital letters all over the large stone.

"Hey freak!"

Dean's head snapped up at the sound of shouting in the distance, looking out of the window and scowling angrily as he locked eyes with Jeremy Downs, the fourteen-year-old nuisance who'd just moved into the house next door.

"I know you killed your aunt. Don't think that house of yours is gonna save you asshole! It's a whole new ballgame with me in this town motherfucker. I'm gonna annihilate your ass. Just you wait!"

Dean growled at Jeremy's back as he walked through his front door. He should have known that his peaceful existence inside the safety of his sanctuary wouldn't last forever. There was always somebody who was going to find a way to make his life a living hell. It was the price you paid for being an outcast.

Sighing heavily, Dean made an attempt to go back downstairs, only to stop in the doorway as a painting in the corner of the room caught his wandering eye. It was the first one he'd ever done, brought on by the loneliness his thirteen-year-old self needed an escape from. He remembered the feeling of wanting to create an imaginary friend that he could have pretend conversations with, a feeling that led to him painting the portrait of a man he envisioned in his head as kind and understanding, someone who not only enjoyed the pleasure of his company, but who was also capable of releasing him from the burden of his solitary confinement. The end result proved to be quite a welcome distraction, as the man's dimpled smile made it extremely easy for his naïve mind to concoct a delusional fantasy centering around the imagined relationship he now shared with his creation; a person who, in his mind, was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Looking at it now after all these years, it seemed little has changed in the way he felt about his most treasured possession.

_At least I still have you Sammy,_ Dean thought with a smile as he turned to descend down the spiral staircase, visions of Sam and Mary swirling around pleasantly in the murky depths of his consciousness.


	2. Bring Me To Life

_ August 4th, 2005_

_I_ _stared languidly at the clock on the wall, feeling hypnotized by the swinging pendulum that seemed determined to send me spiraling into unconsciousness. Boredom seeped sneakily into my skin as the minutes ticked by at a snail's pace, the movements of the hands barely recognizable beneath the weight of my intense gaze. I scoffed as the clock struck midnight, signaling the end of yet another wasted day spent doing absolutely nothing. Sometimes I wished the grim reaper would hurry up and take me already, save me from the tedious task of sitting idly by while the sand encased within the metaphorical hourglass representing my life sank to the very bottom, each tiny grain mocking me with my inability to end the life I'd so graciously come to hate. But no matter how much I wished and wanted, the bastard never came. Instead, he chose to leave little old me behind as I drowned relentlessly in the waves of my despair; perilous to stop my continued existence._

_In other words, death was a dick. _

_Feeling an overwhelming urge to paint, I got up from my place on the settee and descended the stairs to my beloved art room. As I opened the door, I stopped to take a look at all the paintings I'd created since the day that rock was thrown through my window by the punk next door, the same punk who was now displayed all over my canvases in various forms of peril. Smiling to myself, I reached into the closet to fetch another one, an idea forming in my mind as to the nature of my next project involving Jeremy, an idea that never would have occurred to me had I not spent all of yesterday afternoon in front of my television watching Little Shop of Horrors. _

_An hour later, after I'd poured every emotion I had into my work, I'd finally finished what was probably my favorite painting yet. I felt a smirk manifest itself on my face as I took in the form of Jeremy Downs, hung upside down and suspended in midair above a giant Venus Flytrap, its open mouth revealing a scary set of razor-sharp teeth that protruded from its lips in a grotesque display of promised violence. It was times like these that I felt I could be at peace with the world around me; when I could just stand in the middle of the fictional carnage I'd created and pretend that everything I'd painted had come to pass. But as much as I would have loved to have the ability to transform my art into reality, I didn't. So instead of ending the miserable lives of the people who'd wronged me with my mighty paintbrush the way I wanted to, I closed up shop for the night and headed back to my bedroom, taking my picture of Sammy with me so that I could fall asleep with his image in my head. _

_So fast forward to the present and here I am; alternating between writing nonsense in my journal and glancing at Sam from beneath my long eyelashes, wishing above anything else that I could somehow make him real. Could you imagine that? Having Sammy…like REALLY having him. Sometimes I wonder what he'd feel like; those soft, wispy curls being run through my eager fingers, tracing the contours of his face with my fingertips, running my tongue against the seam of those sensual lips…but that was just a fantasy; nothing more. I'd scare him away just like I scare away everyone else who dares cross my path. _

_I thought that I could perhaps find some inner peace after having depleted all of the excess rage built up inside me through my work, but it seems that whatever semblance of sanity I could have retained from those paintings was lost to me the moment I allowed my thoughts to stray from the designs on my canvases to the face of the one man who made me realize the ugly truth about my godforsaken existence. Focusing my eyes on his reminded me of my insufferable solitude, a reminder which I did not need; especially now. Thanks to him, that uncomfortable pain in the pit of my stomach has returned, that dull ache that only loneliness can provide. It's time to sleep now, I think. Tomorrow's another day…unfortunately._

Placing his journal on his nightstand, Dean glanced once more at his beloved Sammy, that familiar flare of pain rising up to take center stage once again at the sight of his best friend; his only friend.

"I wish you were real Sam," Dean whispered, eyes closing involuntarily from the weight of his heavy eyelids. "Wish you…were…real."

Dean's wish echoed through the hallow walls of his house as he slipped into unconsciousness, completely unaware of the transformation taking place inside his bedroom, a transformation which resulted in a missing painting and an empty canvas.

* * *

It was brief at first, the tiny whimper coming from the other side of the bed only managing to create the smallest of tremors from within the long eyelashes of an oblivious Dean Winchester. But then it happened again, the noises growing louder and louder with each passing second. Finally, it got the reaction it was looking for as Dean's eyes fluttered open at the foreign sound of life that was coming from the other side of his bed. Turning his head to glance in the direction of the front door, he shot up in bed and stared in horror at the sight in front of him, closing and opening his eyes repeatedly in an attempt to remove what he believed to be a cruel hallucination. There, standing in the doorway of his bedroom, was a man; his frightened eyes blinking their confusion at Dean as he skittishly hid his body behind the door to cover his unclothed skin.

Dean approached the spooked boy as if he were a wild animal, the fear residing in his soul faltering somewhat at the tremors that wracked the man's shaking body. As the sunlight peeked through the curtains of Dean's bedroom window, it shined its rays on the face of the stranger sharing his personal space. The illumination provided Dean with enough light to make out whose face it was staring back at him, the view causing him to stop dead in his tracks. His eyes widened in surprise as he took in every inch of what he now knew to be his creation, the shock so intense that for a moment all he could do was stare open-mouthed at the man who'd owned his heart ever since he first came into existence.

_No…this couldn't be happening. It's…impossible. He's impossible. _

"S…_Sammy?"_


	3. Welcome To The Neighborhood

"God," Dean whispered, raking his eyes up and down Sam's body. "I've never seen such perfection."

Sam's eyes bore into Dean's with an intensity that sent chills up and down his spine. He didn't remember giving him that impenetrable gaze at the time of his creation, but seeing it now made him realize how much he wished he had. The pupils surrounded by the hazel-colored irises darkened considerably every time Dean dared to take a step closer, eyes narrowing suspiciously at the form of his awestruck maker. With every step forward, Sam took a few steps back. Stopping dead in his tracks, Dean felt an overwhelming sadness come over him. What if Sam didn't want anything to do with him? Nobody else in this godforsaken town gave a rat's ass whether he lived or died. The thought of Sam not being any different filled him with an unbearable ache that sent sparks of pain shooting through every crevice of his already tarnished soul, the force of his agony making it hard for him to breathe. He couldn't allow Sam to deny him what he wanted so badly. Even if he could have anyone, all he desired was this boy in front of him now. His boy. His Sammy.

"Sammy," Dean whispered. "I'm not gonna hurt you, baby. I would never hurt you. Please don't run away from me. I…I need you."

Slivers of sunlight peeked through the curtains draped across his bedroom window, casting a bright light on Sam's beautiful face. The frightened expression that once clouded his features softened into something akin to pity, giving Dean the impression that the pleading look displayed across his face was affecting the spooked boy. Encouraged by this, he tried to once again move closer to Sam. His steps were slow and cautious, as if he were approaching a skittish animal. Sam tilted his head quizzically as Dean stopped just a few inches away from him, reaching an arm out to brace himself against the doorway.

"Are you okay? Do you need me to move away?"

Sam looked at Dean thoughtfully, leaning in close so he could gaze deeply into his emerald eyes. The intimacy of the act took Dean completely by surprise, the heat of another person's body so close to his own a feeling he wasn't entirely used to. It was then that Sam finally spoke, the soft tone of his voice vibrating through every fiber of Dean's being.

"Why do you look so sad?"

Dean smiled ruefully at Sam, the sympathetic look he saw on the other man's face forcing the production of tears beneath his puffy eyelids. "I'm not sad, Sammy. Do you want me to be sad?"

Sam was silent so long Dean was afraid he'd said the wrong thing. Then he spoke again, the sound of his voice relaxing every bone in Dean's body. "I…I don't want you sad. Is there anything I can do?

When Dean didn't answer, Sam reached out to take hold of his hand, placing it over a part of his anatomy that made rosy patches form on the other man's pale cheeks. Sam leaned in until Dean could feel his breath ghosting over his lips, the feel of it driving him to the brink of madness.

"Is this what you want?" he whispered.

Dean looked down at the ground, suddenly feeling very self-conscious and shy. "I uh…I think you should probably just get dressed. I think I have some clothes in the attic that might fit you. You know…if you're interested."

The curious glances Sam kept giving Dean finally evaporated as a cocky smirk tugged at the corners of the boy's mouth, an expression of subtle amusement present on his flawless face.

"Sure," he replied smugly, releasing Dean's hand from his crotch and making his way to the spiral staircase. Dean followed closely behind, apprehension creeping up in every movement his body made.

_Well…at least he's interested in me_.

* * *

"These are the best pancakes ever!" Sam exclaimed, shoveling so much food into his mouth his cheeks puffed out. Dean smiled at the boy as he stole a piece of bacon from his plate, grinning wickedly at Dean as if he'd just done something exceptionally naughty. He continued to stare at the young man in wonder, lustful adoration giving the expression on his face a seductive undertone.

Sam looked up at Dean through his long eyelashes, a slight blush rising up his neck and filling his cheeks with blood. "What?"

"I'm just curious is all. One minute you're a cocky…sex god and the next, you're a food guzzling demon with the power to turn into a blushing idiot at the drop of a pin."

"I saw you looking me up and down. It made me feel…powerful. Besides, as soon as I got a better glimpse at you, I got kind of…I don't know…hot, I guess."

"You should still feel powerful. I can't take my eyes off you. I…I can't believe you're real."

Sam looked at Dean as if he'd just grown a third leg. "What do you mean?"

"Sam," Dean replied, leaning forward in his chair. "Do you have any idea where you came from?"

"Uh…nope."

Dean shook his head in disbelief as he took in the sight of the incredible man he'd created, devouring the food he made for him without a single thought as to how he existed in the first place. He observed the boy in forced silence as he finished his breakfast without once looking up in Dean's direction, seemingly too focused on the bright light that shined in his eyes from the utensils he was using. Any effort Dean made to get his attention was all but ignored as Sam peered thoughtfully at the tools he had in his hands. He was very easily distracted, a personality trait Dean couldn't help but frown upon. When he'd painted Sam, he never once envisioned him as a man who found inanimate objects more fascinating than the company of his creator, and yet that damn fork and knife got more of his attention than Dean did. A strange sensation came over him as he felt an unfamiliar fire burn beneath his rough skin, anger rising up in his chest as he scowled at the objects Sam clutched in his palms.

Chastising himself for feeling envious of his own silverware, Dean tried to pick up the mess Sam had made of his kitchen table, only to freeze where he stood as he heard the unwelcome sound of his own doorbell, a sound he never thought he'd hear again. Sam nearly jumped out of his seat as the noise reverberated off the walls of the house, the unfamiliar assault to his ears spooking the boy beyond endurance.

"Shh. It's okay baby," Dean said, taking slow steps to the front door. "It just means someone's here."

The sight of Kenneth Downs was never a pleasant one to behold, especially when he looks at you with the same contempt as his wretched son. Dean rolled his eyes as he was being scrutinized, wishing he could slap that nasty look right off the other man's face.

"Dean? Mind if I come in?"

Dean blinked. "Um…I…I haven't had anyone else in my house for a long time. I don't know if that's such a good idea."

Kenneth glanced over Dean's shoulder, a smug smirk forming on his face. "Really? Looks like you've got someone in there right now."

Dean fashioned a glance at Sam before turning his attention back to Kenneth, a low growl forming in his throat at the lust he saw in the man's eyes. "Like I said," he replied sharply. "I don't think it's such a good idea."

"Aww come on," Sam interrupted. "Let the poor guy come in. He asked nicely enough."

Dean gave Sam a death glare, warning him with his eyes not to speak out of turn. His anger went unnoticed as the boy strutted past him and dragged Kenneth in by his arm, ignoring the scowl he got for his disloyalty. Slamming the door behind them, Dean followed closely behind. Kenneth and Dean sat on opposite sides of the table, each glaring daggers at the other while Sam looked on in bemused silence.

"So," Kenneth said. "You're a handsome boy. Where are you from anyway? I can't recall ever seeing you around here. Did you just move in?"

Sam smiled shyly at the compliment, seemingly happy that someone besides Dean had taken such a personal interest in him. His attempt to sit beside the strange man was sidetracked as Dean reached an arm out to cease his movements, dragging him onto his lap. He kept his gaze focused on Kenneth the entire time, the action coupled with the possessive glint in his eyes conveying in no uncertain terms exactly who this boy sitting on top of him belonged to.

"Why are you here?"

Kenneth narrowed his eyes at the hand Dean used to stroke Sam's thigh, seemingly deep in thought. "I uh…I heard my son threw a rock through your window."

"That's right."

"I wanted to apologize for that. I also wanted to make sure that there aren't going to be…any hard feelings between the two of you. He is my son after all and the last thing I want is for there to be any trouble that might hinder his ability to blend in with the neighborhood. I don't want the boy to be seen as a troublemaker, you know?"

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Look, uh…I don't exactly know what you're getting at here. If you're worried about me calling the police or shouting obscenities at your kid from the rooftops, you don't have to worry about any of that. I never leave my house and I hate cops so I'd rather die than involve them in anything. As far as the neighborhood goes, everyone here hates me so anything negative I could say about your son from my window would only fall on deaf ears. Hell, if they knew I hated him then they'd probably like him more."

"So…you do hate my kid then? Is that what you're saying?"

"I don't hate him," Dean responded. "I just think he's a pain in my fucking ass."

Kenneth's gaze darkened at the insult to his son, anger transforming his face into a scowl. "Well then…I'll just have to make sure that he leaves you alone. I'm glad there aren't any misunderstandings. I guess I'll take my leave now."

Dean watched Sam's face as Kenneth rose from his seat, the sympathetic look he saw there sending waves of jealousy flowing through every fiber of his being. The boy tried to get up, only to be stopped by the arm that tightened dangerously around his waist.

"I'm sorry about all this with your son," Sam called out. "I know kids do stupid stuff like that all the time. I'll be happy to talk to him, if you want. You know…if he needs a friend."

Kenneth smiled at Sam, eyes lingering on his syrup stained lips. " You can just call me Ken. That's sweet of you, young man. Maybe if you aren't busy, you and me could talk as well. I'd love to get to know you. I'm sure you're…a very good boy."

The seductive undertone present behind those last three words put Dean in a sour mood, a mood made even worse when Ken smiled at his reaction to it. Sam of course was oblivious to this, flashing his charming grin at the other man as he walked out of the house.

As soon as he was gone, Dean laid in on Sam. "What the hell is wrong with you? Why were you flirting with him?"

Sam looked stunned. "I wasn't flirting, Dean. I was trying to be nice. You were being an asshole."

"He deserved it! You have no idea what goes on in this neighborhood or how crooked most of these people are. Just do me a favor and stay away from them!"

"FINE!" Sam yelled, ripping himself out of Dean's grasp and stomping his feet towards the hallway. "I was just trying to be helpful. You don't have to be so mean to me!"

Dean groaned as Sam stormed up the stairs, disapproval causing his head to fall in his hands.

_Nice going Dean. Now he hates you._

Having Sam in his life was something he was going to have to get used to, but he still for the life of him couldn't figure out how one day could change the course of his destiny forever. One minute he's a lonely agoraphobic without a life and the next, he's answering doorbells and fighting with a neighbor over a man who just last night was made of nothing more than paint. How was he supposed to get Sam to fall in love with him when he didn't know a damn thing about other people? He's been rejected his entire life, shunned by a society who decided long ago that he wasn't good enough to exist. If everyone else hates him, then Sam will too.

But that's just it. The boy _doesn't_ hate him. At least, Dean didn't think he did. One thing was for sure though: he had to do something about the situation in which he found himself. Otherwise, he'd lose the boy forever.

Dean sighed wearily to himself as he took the staircase to his beloved art room, the sound of Sam's footsteps filling him with a strange inner peace he'd never known before. He _would _make that boy love him. He had to. If he couldn't_…_then perhaps he'd have to use that bullet in the study after all_. _


	4. The Popular Samuel Plunkett

The smell of freshly cooked bacon permeated the walls of the art room where Dean had fallen asleep, the hardwood floors causing him to groan in pain as he slowly sat up. He looked around the room in confusion before finally realizing his nostrils were being assaulted by a lovely aroma, the scent of food zapping his brain into full consciousness as he bustled down the stairs to the kitchen, stopping dead in his tracks at the sight that greeted him.

He smiled to himself as he took in the form of a shirtless Sam, sipping his cup of orange juice and groaning in satisfaction at the taste. The boy's blue jeans hung low off his hips, the curve of his ass threatening to spill from the confines of their denim-clad covering when he reached up to grab something from the cupboards, the action taking Dean's breath away.

_So…it wasn't a dream. He's really here._

Dean tried to keep his cool, but the realization of that was more than he could have ever hoped for, and the smile that was placed on him when Sam finally noticed his presence stole whatever semblance of sanity he had left.

Lunging for the poor boy before he could so much as blink, Dean crashed their lips together in a stunning display of lust-filled desperation, groaning appreciatively when his probing tongue took in the taste of the man in front of him. Sam's surprised '_oomph_' at having his mouth assaulted was replaced with a quiet moan, making Dean growl possessively into the kiss he never thought he'd ever be fortunate enough to experience. He felt as if all time had ceased to exist, the minutes that usually waited for no man suddenly suspended in appreciation as fantasy merged with reality.

Sam's backwards movement as he broke the kiss forced time back into motion, the feeling of the young man pulling away from him sending a jolt of pain through Dean's body.

"I'm…I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"Oh, Dean. I didn't mean it like that, I swear! Don't get upset. I just…you just took me by surprise is all. I liked kissing you. Could you just warn me next time?"

Dean looked upon Sam's smile in bewildered confusion, wondering how someone so beautiful could ever be interested in a person like him. He was the personification of imperfection, a being completely incapable of measuring up to the standards set forth by society. He wasn't outgoing, confident, suave or good-looking. He had a hard time communicating with people unless he was angry, always stumbling over his words like a bumbling idiot. All of these impurities made him nothing more than a social pariah, someone not even worthy enough to take the place of a chewed up piece of gum on another person's shoe. Everything about him screamed _loser_, and yet… here was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen standing before him in all his glory talking about how much he liked having Dean slobbering all over him like a bitch in heat. It took a couple of moments before Dean could think of a thing to say, too busy wondering whether or not he somehow made Sam mental on accident. He'd have to be to find Dean attractive…right?

"Um…uh…w-why didn't you yell at me?" he asked shyly.

Sam looked confused. "Yell at you? Why in the world would I do that?"

"Well…I uh…I ki-kissed you."

"And?"

Dean looked bewilderedly at Sam, totally at a loss for words. "Why the hell would you even _want_ me to kiss you? Have you seen me?!"

Sam smiled at Dean as if he'd just said something silly, reaching out a big hand to pat Dean on the head like he was an oblivious child. "You're so silly sometimes, De. I'm gonna go shower."

"De?" he asked Sam's retreating form, his question going unnoticed as the young man made his way to the bathroom. _That kid is going to drive me insane._

A knock on the door startled Dean out of his thoughts, his frown becoming more prominent as he made his way into the living room. The idea of having a guest who wasn't Sam was an unwelcome intrusion upon the privacy he valued above all else. The way he saw it, more people equaled more uncomfortable situations where he wouldn't know how to behave or what to say. Being out of the loop as far as human beings went, he found it easier to be alone rather than try to fit in where he knew he wouldn't be able to. So, rather than attempt to interact with someone who'd only reject him anyway, he instead chose to remain in the shadows, far away from the prying eyes of all who opposed him.

Dean narrowed his eyes as Kenneth Downs peered at him through the keyhole, aggravated by having his arch nemesis show up at his doorstep for the second time in two days. His attempts to ignore the man were sabotaged as Sam came bustling from the bathroom with nothing on but a towel. Pushing past Dean, he threw the door open and ushered the other man inside before his creator had a chance to react, pulling Ken into a bear hug from which he could not escape.

"It's you again!" Sam exclaimed. "I'm glad Dean has company. Poor guy doesn't seem to do anything but sulk in silence all day. You make yourself at home while I hop in the shower. I'll be out in a few minutes."

Dashing back in the other room, Sam missed the bewildered look both men shot his way, shocked at the speed with which the entire situation unfolded itself. Their befuddlement lasted all of two seconds as they locked eyes with one another, their astonished expressions morphing into suspicion as each one sized up the other.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Dean asked spitefully.

"Don't be so pissy, Dean. I wanted to see Sam. The poor kid hasn't been able to see the neighborhood yet, so I thought I'd show him around town. You know, because you can't seem to muster up the courage needed to escape this wretched hell hole you call a house."

Dean felt his whole body stiffen in anger at Ken's words, fury boiling his blood as he fought the urge to punch his neighbor in the face. "You don't need to see him. You don't think I know what you're trying to do? Well, you can forget about it cause it ain't gonna happen."

Ken batted his eyelashes in feigned innocence, his arrogance shining through in the way he mockingly put his hand over his heart. "Why, whatever do you mean, Dean? I'm just trying to be friendly and show the boy a good time. I'd take you too if you weren't such an agoraphobic."

"Now you listen to me, Ken. I swear if you so much as look at that boy, you will live to regret it. You have no idea what I'm capable of when someone tries to take away what belongs to me."

"Do you really think I'm scared of you, Dean? You can't even leave your house and yet here you are…threatening me. It's kind of comical, you know. You trying to be all tough and assertive when you can't even lift one foot out your front door. Tell me…what would you do if I was interested in Samuel the way you think I am?"

Dean's response was cut off as Sam came running back into the living room, the water in his hair dripping onto the floor in tiny puddles. His hot shower had turned the skin a rosy red, his flushed appearance causing Dean's pupils to dilate mercilessly to the pleasant sight.

"Pretty quick, aren't I?" Sam said happily, his smile making Dean swallow nervously. Before he could answer, he groaned in frustration as another knock sounded, the sound becoming a nuisance to Dean's abused ears. Opening the door, he felt his brows furrow in a mixture of confusion and disgust as he glared at three familiar neighbors who lived just up the block, each one nothing more than an irritating thorn in his side.

"Now, what the hell do you all want?" Dean snapped.

"Now, is that anyway to talk to your guests?" Cindy Whitman piped up, her blue eyes boring into Dean's.

Cindy's always been a rather nosy neighbor, constantly getting into other people's business and sticking her nose where it didn't belong. She always gave Dean a look of contempt when she saw him glance at her through his open window, his curiosity getting the better of him whenever he noticed her walking that godawful Chihuahua Millie. She looked like an airbrushed playboy model with her spray tan and tight body, never-failing to catch the attention of every male that came her way. Bleach blonde hair fell across delicate shoulders in heaping waves and framed fake tits that never jiggled, the thought of what it would be like to poke them with a pin popping up in Dean's head on more than one occasion. The stupid grin he had on his face made her frown disapprovingly, wrinkling her (probably Botox injected) face in disgust before once again masking her hatred with kind eyes and a pretty smile.

"Is something wrong, dear?"

Dolores, Cindy's best friend and world-class bitch, pushed past Dean and made her way inside the house, ignoring the snarl she got in return from the owner.

"My, my, my…aren't you a handsome thing," she said to Sam, running her pale fingers through the boy's floppy brown hair. Sam smiled brightly at the praise, reaching both hands out to frame her plain face.

"You've got pretty brown eyes," he responded eagerly, his cheeks turning a deep shade of crimson.

Sam's blush infuriated Dean. That was _his_ boy. Only _he_ was allowed to touch. He felt his upper lip raise toward his nose in disgust, images of what it would be like to eviscerate the girl from the inside out playing like a broken record in Dean's mind. Before he could make a move to remove Sam from the woman's clutches, someone reached out and grabbed his hand, the foreign feeling making him jump in surprise and whip his head around to discover the owner of the hand that dared touch his skin.

Margaret Sheldon was an old woman in her late sixties, with light brown hair and low brows suspended above deep-set gray eyes, giving her a sinister appearance that frightened whoever was unfortunate enough to be the object of her stern gaze. She was a horrible woman whom everyone seemed to hate with a deep passion, her reputation as the town cunt making her almost as big a pariah as Dean. The only thing that made her fit in was her intense dislike for the man she was directing her spiteful stare at, her smug smile making Dean want to wipe it off her face, respect for his elders be damned.

"Dean, my dear, you didn't really plan on keeping your new guest all to yourself, did you? Why, he only just got here! If you don't want him going anywhere then at least let us come inside and meet the poor thing. All he's got is you for company. That's gotta be absolute torture, right?"

Dean's eyes narrowed in realization as the reason for this unexpected visit dawned on him. Everybody here just wanted to see Sammy. The thought of any one of them going anywhere near his beautiful creation sent anger coursing through his veins like electricity flowing through a conductive medium, fury boiling his blood faster than it took for him to slam the door behind everyone in a blinding rage. All heads turned to him in shock, his sudden outburst an unwelcome distraction from the boy caught in the middle of this tug-of-war he had going on with the neighbors over his attention.

"Dean?" Sam asked apprehensively, ignoring the strange faces of the people around him. "You okay?"

Dean looked upon the boy warily as if he were in pain, the expression making Sam bite his lip in thought. After what felt like an eternity, he turned to everyone and flashed that charming smile that made Dean weak at the knees, addressing everyone as if he'd known them for years.

"So, I take it everyone here wants to learn all about the new guy, right? Well, how about all of you guys come back on another day and we'll have a barbecue or something?"

Chatter was instantly heard all around the room as all the neighbors argued about a date for the party they insisted on having at Dean's place, every single word making his hackles rise in irritation. Ken was the only one not focused on Samuel, instead focusing his eyes on Dean as a scornful smile tugged at the corners of his thin lips. He was clearly enjoying the other man's discomfort, and his inappropriate happiness at Dean's misery was a clear indication of his involvement with the situation in which Dean currently found himself. The knowledge that all of this was Ken's fault wasn't much of a surprise to the younger man as Ken's been making his life a living hell since he first moved in next door. But even though he was more than used to Ken's petty torments, he still could never control the anger that resulted from his impertinence, the man's hatred of Dean becoming more than he could stand. Sinking his shoulders in defeat, Dean looked up at the other man knowingly, asking the question he was pretty sure he already knew the answer to.

"You told them about my Samuel, didn't you?"

"I might have mentioned a new person in the neighborhood but hey, you can't be mad at me for wanting the boy to have a life outside of this dreary old house. You would have kept him all to yourself if I hadn't of done this and then poor Sammy would have been completely friendless. I mean, look at him."

Ken came up behind Dean as he looked over at Samuel, the boy's radiant smile conveying his happiness at being able to socialize with other people. Dean felt a mixture of guilt and jealousy tug at his heart-strings as he listened to the other man laugh, his expression making Ken smile knowingly as he leaned in to murmur into Dean's ear, "You want him to be happy don't you, Dean?"

"More than anything," he whispered.

"Then let him have this time to get to know everyone," Ken responded, placing both hands on Dean's shoulders. "You may be a lonely agoraphobic with no friends outside of Samuel…but do you really want him to share the same fate?"

Sam's loud laugh reverberated off the walls of the house, the sound making Dean smile sadly. He knew the boy wouldn't want to be with him once he got a taste of what life was like on the other side; who would want to? He knew he wasn't much, but he was Sam's creator and that had to account for something, didn't it? Watching the boy now, he knew he was going to have to up his game if he wanted Sam to stay with him. But surely he could still allow the boy to have friends…even those he didn't particularly care for. They were good to Samuel and that was all that mattered.

Thinking of the boy's happiness was what inevitably made up his mind for him, his next words coming out before he had a chance to reconsider their meaning. "I want Samuel to be happy. I…want you all to come over this weekend and spend time with him."

Ken smiled triumphantly at Dean's answer, patting the other man on the back as he called for the people gathered around Sam. "Hey, it's time to go guys. We can come over on Friday and see the boy. You take care of yourself, Sam. We'll see you in a couple of days."

Everyone smiled at Sam as they made their exit, the boy's popularity evident from the way they spoke fondly of him outside Dean's front door. He listened for a moment before making his way over to Samuel, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his full lips. Wrapping his arms around the boy, he stared admiringly at every feature of the face he took it upon himself to create, his expression making Sam grin smugly.

"You're just so impressed with yourself, aren't you?"

"Can't help it. I'm just that damn good."

Sam leaned in to place a gentle kiss to Dean's mouth, the impulsivity of the act making Dean look up in confusion. "Why did you kiss me?" he whispered shyly.

"You really are an idiot, you know that?" Sam responded, moving away to sit in front of the tv. "I kissed you because I wanted to, dingbat. Come sit by me."

Dean sat beside Sam on the couch as he went over the kiss in his head, his brows furrowing in suspicion as a thought suddenly occurred to him. "You're buttering me up for Friday, aren't you? You know that them coming here is up to me so you're trying to get me to say yes or something."

"WRONG!" Sam yelled playfully, hitting Dean upside the head. "God, you have such low self-esteem! Now, enough about the neighbors. Tell me about me. What's my last name?"

"Plunkett."

Sam burst out laughing. "Seriously?"

"I thought it sounded cool! Sort of like…a name you'd hear from the old days or something."

"How old am I?"

"Eighteen."

"And why did you paint me in the first place?"

Dean looked at Sam for a long time, debating on whether or not the truth would make him sound like a loser. Convinced that it would, he ignored Sam and instead focused his attention on some Lifetime movie, the conversation the two women on the screen were having making him smile.

"What the hell are you smiling at?"

"You can always tell Lifetime apart from the other stations because the women are always getting raped or abused by men. They should just call it the 'men are evil' channel."

Sam giggled, throwing a pillow at his head and smirking triumphantly at the surprised look on the other man's face. "I think you're awesome, Dean."

"Really?"

"No," Sam replied, laughing when Dean lunged forward and began tickling him. "Okay, okay! I surrender!" When Dean ceased his ministrations, he realized he was lying on top of Samuel, the warm body underneath him shifting accommodatingly to allow him access in between the other boy's spread legs.

"De…you okay?"

"I uh…I think we should just watch tv," he responded, easing himself off the boy before gluing his eyes once again to the screen in front of him. His behavior must have confused Sam, the poor thing looking at Dean as if he'd just declared himself a woman.

"Do you love me, De?"

The question, quite frankly, surprised him. How anyone with Samuel's beauty could question something like that was patently ridiculous. Everyone who came in contact with Sam loved him, Dean had made sure of that when he created the boy. But he realized in that moment that, while he provided Sam with an unquestionable lust for life, he never really gave him the ability to recognize his own worth. Maybe there was a part of him that wanted Sam to have the same low self-esteem that Dean did. Unconsciously, he probably thought that, had Sam been real, he could understand what Dean was going through because he'd have the same problem with his own self-image. The thought that he could burden Sam with the same self-doubt that Dean had made him frown guiltily at the only thing he had to live for. Gazing into Samuel's hazel eyes, he made a silent vow that from this day forward, he would do everything in his power to make sure Sam knew how valued he was to Dean and everyone else. Sam wasn't going to be like him. He was going to know how important he was; how special he was. He was never going to doubt himself or his ability to be whatever he wanted to be. Sam was going to love himself, Dean would make sure of it.

Smiling adoringly at Samuel, he reached out to tuck a couple of stray hairs behind Sam's ears, the boy's expression hopeful as he waited patiently for Dean's answer.

"You have no idea," he replied.

The smile he got in return was the best reward he could ever ask for, and the way Sam put his head on Dean's shoulder eased any doubts he had about losing Samuel to those jerks he'd spent the last decade trying to avoid. Placing his head on top of the other man's, he slowly closed his eyes as visions of a happy life with Sam played inside his head, the sound of Sam's 'I love you' going unnoticed as the contented man beside him drifted silently into the dark abyss known as sleep.


	5. Unlawful Punishment

_August 8, 2005_

_The summer breeze flew through gaps in chestnut strands stationed on the head of a very chipper Samuel Plunkett as he leaned over the balcony to peer restlessly at the neighborhood below, his radiant smile forcing the sun behind a dark cloud as jealousy paled the rays which shined down upon the earth just moments earlier. It's been like this for the last couple of days, the brightness of Sam's grin shaming that gigantic ball of fire in the sky as he directed it on everybody within seeing distance of his beautiful face. I don't think he realizes the effect he has on everybody. Even nature seems attuned to his brilliance, flowers that have never bloomed unfolding their colored petals for the first time just to get a good long look at the Greek Adonis standing shirtless and barefoot outside the walls of the Winchester household. A persistent tongue parted pink lips unconsciously as my precious Sammy caught my eye, the corners drifting upwards into a tiny smile as he looked admiringly at my bare chest. Scarlet stained my pale cheeks as I sat beneath the weight of that lustful gaze, his relatively harmless flirtation sending waves of desire coursing through every inch of my deprived body. _

_No…he could never want me. At least, that's what I keep telling myself. Aunt Phyllis made it perfectly clear how detestable I am to the rest of the human race, so why bother entertaining the thought of playing house with a man who is so far out of my league, it isn't even funny? I guess that's what happens when you've got nothing else to live for; you find yourself dreaming of a world where not only do happy endings exist, but they have also constructed a divine paradise designed specifically for you. My brain is constantly telling me that if I just keep him at arm's length, I won't get sucked into something that I could never climb my way out of. But he just…he just doesn't quit. He keeps wanting to be near me, wanting to touch me and silly me, I keep letting him. I try to resist, but those puppy dog eyes and adorable dimples chip away at my defenses until I'm forced to watch the walls I'd spent so long building around my heart crumble to the ground as if they were made of sand. That sneaky bastard is breaking down every barrier I have. I doubt I'm going to get out of this alive. Well…I suppose death by insatiable love would definitely be a hell of a way to go. Fuck it, I'm just gonna give up. I mean, after all…we're all goin' to die anyway, right? Might as well sit back, relax and enjoy the ride. _

"De? Are you done writing in that book yet? I want you to pay attention to me."

Dean looked up at Sam's smiling face with a deep curiosity, the whine he could detect in the boy's tone of voice something he was starting to get more than used to. "Aww, I'm sorry," he taunted. "Did my little Sammy want some TLC? If you want something from me, all you've got to do is come and get it."

Sam's eyes darkened with lust as he crawled unashamedly to his timid creator, the muscles in his back moving sinuously with each forward motion. Reaching the crossed legs blocking his destination, he took both hands and forcibly spread Dean's thighs wide open, sliding between the vee he'd created without once taking his eyes off of the man in front of him. Leaning forward, he brushed his lips against Dean's sensuously as he began to speak, each word bouncing off the walls and implanting themselves directly into Dean's crotch.

"I know you want me," he whispered, sliding a hand down to squeeze at the huge bulge tenting Dean's jeans. "I can feel how much."

Sam was up and out the door before Dean could even think to formulate a response, the now empty room mocking him for his inability to form a single coherent thought when faced with Almighty Sam and his evil seduction techniques. That boy was going to be the death of him, of that he was certain.

Getting up to follow the boy responsible for his sudden arousal, he stopped dead in his tracks as he watched Sam take his jeans and boxers off. That kid had absolutely no shame, always getting naked right in front of Dean as if his body wouldn't send his perverted inventor spiraling into an abyss of incessant eroticism. If he only knew what went on in the mind of the person responsible for bringing him into the world, he wouldn't be so quick to lay himself bare before the sex starved creator.

"Today's the day, Dean! Me and you are gonna socialize with other people! Isn't it great?"

Dean chuckled quietly as he stood by the doorway of Sam's bedroom, the hands he had stuffed in his pockets clenching unconsciously when the boy mentioned his wretched neighbors. He'd almost forgotten about today's barbecue, the dreaded hour of doom approaching rapidly with every breath he took. Maybe if he was lucky, there would be an apocalypse that would wipe out the entire world today and then Dean wouldn't have to put up with the snobby douche bags he shared a town with. _No…that would be too easy._

"Dean! When are you cooking?"

Dean looked up incredulously. "ME? It wasn't _my_ idea to invite a bunch of blood thirsty demons over to play Steal the Sammy."

Sam burst out laughing. "Steal the Sammy? Seriously?"

"Well, that's what they're trying to do," Dean retorted, folding his arms over his chest like a child. "They wanna take you away from me."

"No, they don't. God, you're a pain in my ass, Dean. Anyway, I can't cook so this is all on you…_daddy_."

"Of course," he replied bitterly. "Everything is always up to…did you just call me daddy?"

"That's what you are, isn't it? You know, that would mean that what we're doing is technically considered incest."

"You're gross," Dean snapped.

Stalking up the stairs to his art room, Dean slammed the door loud enough for Sam to hear. This whole socializing with the neighbors thing was really starting to piss him off. He knew he had to put up with their snobbery for Sam's sake, but he didn't see how he had to cater to them when he wasn't even the one who invited them over in the first place. _Fuck this_, he thought to himself. _I'm going to paint._

* * *

Sam ran into the art room an hour later, stilling his movements at the painting before him. "What the fuck is that?"

"It's Kenneth Downs," Dean responded, not once taking his eyes off his work.

"Well, I know that. What I meant was…why the hell is he in an ocean getting ripped apart by a pack of giant piranhas?"

Dean smiled. "Because the thought of him dying makes me hard."

Sam stared at the paintbrush in horror as the soft bristles applied a dark red to the rippling ocean waves surrounding the body of Kenneth Downs, his wide eyes bulging in terror from the malevolent fish tearing apart his skin piece by piece. Blood decorated the canvas in tiny droplets, frozen in midair above the grim scene being created by Dean's talented hand.

Taking his eyes off the unpleasant sight, Sam turned his head to glance around the room, shocked to see the faces of all his neighbors as they met their untimely end within the murky depths of what he was now going to call "Dean's Ocean of Death."

"I don't know which one is more grotesque," Sam said, shocked at what he saw. "That blonde girl's tits being ripped from her body by those…what are they?"

"I call them sea vultures."

"Sea-" Sam cut himself off as he glanced back at Dean, noting how the man kept on painting without once looking in his direction.

"I see," he replied. "Well…the uh…sea vultures are pretty bad. But then again, so is the one with the old lady. Am I correct in assuming she's just been scalped?"

"Yep," Dean said, his attention still riveted on Kenneth Downs. "By the Indians. If you look to her left, you'll see the instrument they used floating beside her dead body."

Sam, to his horror, snorted in amusement. "I see. Well, I think you're fucking demented, Dean. All of these are terrible…oh god. That one's gotta be the worst. Is that…is that me?"

"Sure is. You were pissing me off the other day so I came in here and fed you to the sharks. You know, I think all of these should be sold at an auction or something. I can call it my Crimson Waters Collection."

"You're fucking sick Dean," Sam replied, hanging his head so that Dean couldn't see the grin forming on his face.

* * *

Dean scowled as he glanced around the living room, every face staring back at him smirking as if being inside his house and socializing with his most prized creation was some sort of victory for them. He wished Sam could see what he saw when he looked at them. He tried warning the boy, yet he refused to see what was right there in front of him, instead choosing to remain completely oblivious to the devil horns sprouting from their heads. Ken had spent most of his time with Samuel, a fact which made every muscle in Dean's body tense up with pure hatred. The man didn't even try to hide his obvious interest in Sam, making sure to place his hands where he had no business putting them just to get a rise out of his jealous neighbor. It wasn't going to work though. Dean was going to make this a pleasant experience for Samuel. The last thing that kid needed was for the man who brought him into the world to fuck up his chances at having a normal life. He'd be damned if he was going to risk having the boy hate him.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean turned to address Jeremy Downs, his frown deepening as he took in the cocky smirk on the little brat's face. "Jeremy, lovely to see you again."

"You must hate it, huh?"

"Hate what?"

"How close dad and Samuel have become. You know, I had no idea that anyone would be interested in staying with a freak but it looks like the guy actually likes you. My guess is he got hit on the head a little too many times as a kid."

"What do you want, Jeremy?" Dean asked, his patience wearing thin.

"I know about you, you know. I wonder if your precious Samuel would feel the same way about you if he knew the truth."

Dean froze. "And what truth is that?"

Jeremy stared at him for a long moment, the wheels in his head turning so loud Dean could have sworn he heard them from where he was standing. He couldn't help but assume the boy was talking about Phyllis, the mystery surrounding her death subject to long bouts of gossip from the entire town. Tales of her demise usually ended with Dean being the murderer, which wouldn't exactly be as far from the truth as you might imagine. However, the neighbors never get it right when they discuss the circumstances leading up to it. They can assume that Dean killed her, but their reasons as to why usually border on insanity. Dean likes to think he had a hand in her death, but people saying he did it for her inheritance or because he was psychotic are completely ridiculous. Truth be told, he was a witness to her murder and took great pains to make sure he didn't interfere. But that's a story he didn't intend to dwell on, and the people in this town could speculate all they wanted, but Dean would be damned if he was going to throw them a bone on the subject.

"You know what I think, Dean? I think you're afraid of everybody because you know that if you went outside, people wouldn't think twice about exacting some well deserved revenge on your ass for butchering a sweet old lady."

Dean snorted. "Your ignorance is astounding. You've never even met the woman. Phyllis was far from sweet. But all the people saying I killed her are just talking out their asses."

Rather than respond, Jeremy walked past Dean to address the people taking up space in the living room, the spontaneous action giving Dean a strange sense of foreboding.

"Hey guys! May I have your attention please?"

Everybody in the room fell silent, all heads turning towards Dean and the boy next to him. Sam's face held a mixture of interest and confusion at the strange turn of events, passing a quick glance at Dean in what looked like an attempt to see if he had any idea what it was Jeremy was trying to do. Dean shrugged in response, a sense of unease twisting his gut. Whatever was happening, he had a feeling he wasn't going to like it.

"Now, as you all know, little Samuel Plunkett is new to the neighborhood. I know we all came here to welcome him, but I also know that we've spent the entire night so far walking on eggshells. Nobody seems to want to address the proverbial elephant in the room so I guess it might as well be me. Unless of course anybody has any objections?"

When he was met with no opposition, Jeremy continued. "I'm just gonna jump right in here. How many of you like Samuel?"

Everybody in the room raised their hands, the action making Sam smile shyly.

"'Kay, I had a feeling that was going to happen. Now, let me ask you this. How many of you like…our friend Dean here?"

Jeremy's second question was met with disdainful laughter and arrogant smiles, every hand going down to fist at the sides of their owners. Sam's smile evaporated, watching Dean's face get redder and redder with anger and shame. Dean crossed his arms defensively as he noticed everyone in the room looking at him as if he were a bug that needed to be squashed, the moment bringing him back to when he was a child in school. Everyone had looked at him the same way then, their scornful expressions and nasty attitudes constantly directed at him every time he walked into the classroom. The unwanted memories had him retreating further and further from the living room where everyone resided, his brain telling him to escape the invisible pitchforks he could see in the clenched fists of his wretched neighbors.

"Yeah, I didn't think so. I know that a lot of people have accused our friend Dean here of murdering his aunt."

"He did!" Somebody shouted.

"We all know it to be true," Cindy chimed in. "To tell you the truth, I only came to try to get Samuel here to leave this asshole before he got gutted just like poor Phyllis did. I think it's ridiculous that we have a murderer right here within our midst and we can't even do anything about it. I mean, he got away with it for fuck sake!"

Okay, okay! Everyone calm down," Kenneth shouted, coming to stand beside his son. "Now, I know all of you are outraged but this is a peaceful town. We don't want any trouble here. That being said, I do think that we should definitely proceed with a little…punishment. One fitting for an agoraphobic. Tell me…how many of you believe Dean should answer for his crimes?"

Everyone shouted their assent, the affirming nods making Sam's face contort in disgusted confusion.

"Well, so do I. We might not be able to treat him the way he treated the poor old lady he massacred, but we can certainly give him something to be scared about. Boys!"

Before Dean could react, he felt two strong hands grab him and force his reluctant body to the front door, the plot they had in mind becoming clearer the closer they got to the front of the house. Dean's eyes widened in horror as he struggled to get away, his efforts proving fruitless against the strength of the people at his sides.

"Don't!" Dean yelled, fright forcing a trail of tears down his pale cheeks. "Please don't put me outside. I can't do it. I just can't do it. Please don't make me do it!"

"Open the door and throw him out in the pool!" Jeremy shouted. "If we're lucky, the bastard won't know how to swim!"

Everyone cheered as the front door to the house opened, the sound of Dean's pitiful screams piercing through the atmosphere. Sam's shock dissipated as he heard the sound of someone being emptied into the pool, the noise springing him into action. Running outside, he jumped into the clear water and pulled Dean's body out, tears springing from his eyes as he took in the face of his creator. Dean was shaking involuntarily, more from being outside than from the freezing cold liquid he was just immersed in. His eyes stared ahead of Sam as if he was noticing something that nobody else could see, his heaving breaths intensifying the longer he stayed outside. Running towards the house, he slammed the door in the faces of the people responsible for his sudden misfortune, spiraling up the staircase and plopping down beside Dean on his bed.

"De," Sam whispered, running his fingers through the older man's spiky hair. "De, you can't be in shock forever. You've got to come back to me. Please, come back to me. I need you here."

When he got no response, Sam leaned forward and placed a soft kiss to Dean's parted lips, the urge to cry into his mouth overwhelming. When he was created, he never once thought about what would happen to him if his inventor died. Being this close to that alternate reality forced him to reëxamine the life he was thrust into just a little over a week ago. He couldn't lose Dean. If Dean died, then where would he be?

Lying down next to his frightened friend, Sam felt his eyes grow heavy as fatigued dulled his senses, sleep imminently approaching his aching body.

"Stay with me, Dean," he murmured at the ceiling, the world around him fading into nothing. "Stay with me."

* * *

Sam groaned as he pulled the covers over his head, trying his hardest to block out the sunlight intent upon waking him up from his comfortable slumber. He turned onto his side away from the window, smiling victoriously as some of the light disappeared from view. Any happiness he obtained from this was short-lived, however, when he heard the sound of clinking echoing through the walls of his bedroom. The noise persisted every time he made an attempt to move one of his legs, the annoying rattling causing him to sit up in frustration. He pulled the covers off of his body and stilled when he noticed the chain attached to his ankle. Bringing his knees to his chest, he inspected the metallic links as they looped together, the sight of it making him frown in bewildered confusion.

A sound coming from the other side of the room whipped his head up as he stared at Dean, the events of the previous night coming back to him piece by piece the longer he looked into the eyes of the cured painter. As his mind became more clear, he found his anger rising when he noticed the man looking at the chains binding him as if he'd put them there, the recognition on Dean's face enough for Sam to know that it was him who was responsible for his bound state.

"Dean," Sam murmured coldly, a slow build up of rage forcing his hands to form into fists at his sides. "Why am I chained?"


End file.
